


circle the drain

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Head Injury, M/M, Shower Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eddie and Richie try having sex in the shower but Richie slips and busts his ass and breaks his dick and the Eddie knocks his head on the tile and bleeds everywhere and they both end up half dead
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61
Collections: Clowntown Kink Meme 2021





	circle the drain

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [clowntown2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/clowntown2021) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Eddie and Richie try having sex in the shower but one of them slips and busts their ass and breaks their dick and the other knocks their head on the tile and bleeds everywhere and they both end up half dead
> 
> /// warning for emetophobia and descriptions of fucked up broken penises. i know exactly what everyone is always looking for in fan fiction

Steam rises in the shower, clouding the sliding door. Eddie hadn’t wanted a glass door—no sense of privacy, what was the point?—but he’d never gotten around to replacing it, and now it feels fine, like a fixture. Good, even. Like every other part of this house, it holds memories built up over the past year. Watching Richie shave in the morning while Eddie washed himself. A blurry glimpse of well-loved skin at night while Eddie flossed his teeth. Scrubbing Richie clean after a long weekend fuck, his skin marked where Eddie had dragged his teeth. Memories everywhere, and still plenty of room to make more. 

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling Richie by the arm out of the stream and into the far corner of the shower. 

“How long have you been holding onto this fantasy?” Richie asks, amused.

“Take me seriously.”

“I am!”

Eddie hooks his arms around Richie’s waist and reels him in closer. “Prove it.”

Richie leans into him, pressing their wet skin together, and gives him an open-mouthed kiss. Eddie runs his hand down Richie’s side, over his hip, and then scratches up his thigh the way Richie likes. 

Richie gasps. Eddie presses a smile into his shoulder, and reaches to cradle his dick.

“Okay.” Richie rocks his hips gently, his dick hardening in Eddie’s hand. “Yes, sir.” 

“Are you talking to me or your dick?”

“Don’t ask questions if you don’t want the answer.” 

Eddie pushes his face into Richie’s neck and gives him a little kiss. “Asshole.” He breaks away and turns to the tiled wall, resting his forehead against his left arm. With his right, he reaches for Richie, pulling him closer.

“You harlot,” Richie says, but he drapes himself over Eddie’s back right away. 

Eddie tilts his neck, inviting Richie to do exactly what he does—drip kisses over Eddie’s jaw and across his shoulder, dip his tongue to taste the water above his collarbone. Warm water trickles from Richie’s hair down Eddie’s chest. A year ago, no one in the universe would’ve called him a _harlot—_ not Eddie Kaspbrak, who preceded every orgasm by shutting his mouth and eyes and visualizing, weirdly, a mountain—but he’s easy for Richie. Easy for his mouth and his tongue, easy for his hands. 

Eddie sighs, relaxing, and lets his head fall back on Richie’s shoulder. He reaches back and digs his nails into Richie’s ass. Richie exhales and grinds himself against Eddie. 

“What is it that you like about this?” Richie asks, nuzzling Eddie’s neck. “I associate shower sex with ducking roommates.”

The answer is too basic to be worth vocalizing. It’s warm, and relaxing, and _private_. Eddie used to jack off in the shower all the time, back when it felt like the only place he could. A little ritual: lock the door, lean his head against the tiled wall, and let heat and steam guide him into soft unreality. But something weird has been happening. A week ago Eddie laid naked against his pillows, and let Richie, kneeling between his knees, watch as Eddie showed off how he liked to touch himself. 

Eddie’s idea of privacy is expanding, letting Richie in. 

“I just like it,” he says. “Sometimes you just like stuff. You wanna dive deeper into my psyche?”

“I always want that,” Richie says. "Deeper in _somewhere."_

Eddie turns his head against Richie's shoulder and offers his mouth. Richie takes it, sliding in his tongue, his soap slick hand coming up to curl gently around Eddie’s neck. Eddie hums encouragingly, and Richie's hand dips back down, rubbing over his chest and stomach and down to his heavy cock.

“You’re so hot,” Richie murmurs. He's hot too, pink from the shower, and he presses his warmth and weight against Eddie. "Thanks for making everyone assume I’ve got unbelievable dick game."

Eddie takes his arm away from Richie's back and puts it back against the wall. He pushes his ass against Richie’s dick. “Hurry up or I'll tell everyone the truth.”

Richie snorts. "Mixed messages."

"Live with it," Eddie says, and tries not to melt into a puddle of relief when Richie slips his slick hand across his back, over his ass, down to where Eddie needs him. With a searching hand he finds where Eddie's warm and open, and presses one finger in. 

Richie seals his mouth over the side of Eddie's neck. In the warm water, Richie’s tongue just feels like an extension of the environment, and Eddie could relax too much if he’s not careful, go all happy and boneless and flop to the floor. Pretty much the opposite of what he’s determined to get.

"More," he murmurs, and Richie pauses to lean away, messing with the bottles lined up around the edge of the tub. 

“Funny how I thought living with a dude would mean less bottles.”

"Shut up," Eddie murmurs.

"That was a test. You didn't say _fewer_ so now I know you really do worship my dick."

"My fucking secret is out," Eddie snaps. "Give it to me or die."

Richie wheezes with laughter behind him, and puts his hand back, this time slippery with lube. 

“Yes,” Eddie hisses as Richie pushes into him again, two fingers this time, shifting them gently. Eddie puts his forehead back on his arm. He pushes back against Richie’s hand, asking for more. 

Richie nudges his nose at the crook of Eddie’s neck, then slides his arm around Eddie’s front, pulling them closer together. “Another?”

“Mm.”

It goes easily, easily enough that Richie lets out a faint gasp of appreciation. Eddie loves that, his own ability to impress Richie, not even by doing anything, just by _being_ —just by _wanting,_ being ready for it. He grins, eyes closed, bared teeth pressing neatly against his own wrist. 

Richie kisses his shoulder and moves his hand back to Eddie’s hip, coaxing him into position. Eddie can feel Richie hot and hard, pressing against his ass, asking permission again. 

Eddie tilts his neck back and gives Richie a clumsy kiss on the part of his jaw that he can reach. He likes getting impatient, the feeling of desire turning heavy and aching and undeniable, but Richie always needs something else, some extra invitation. 

“Come on, baby,” he says. “I wanna feel you.” 

Richie groans a little at that and does what Eddie has been trying and trying to get him to do, and pushes forward. Eddie’s body yields to him, lets him in. 

“Fuck.” Eddie crushes his wrist with his forehead. “Yeah.”

Richie rocks shallowly into Eddie, making him gasp. “Good?”

“Yeah. More.”

Richie obliges, picking up the pace. Eddie makes a noise deep in his throat, presses his chest toward the wall, and arches his back. It’s as good as he imagined, slippery and warm and safe, and he can’t help but pitch back against Richie, faster and faster, urging him on. 

“You weren’t kidding,” Richie pants against his back. 

“Never. C’mon, baby, c’mon.”

Richie fucks into him hard, his palms landing against the wall, framing Eddie’s head. 

“Yeah,” says Eddie, his voice going breathless and keening. Water is trickling into and out of his open mouth, his eyes squeezed shut. The noises he makes blend into the dull thunder of the shower, like they belong there. “Pull out further, yeah, just a little—”

Eddie takes half a step back and feels his foot come down on a slippery spot. Instinctively, he slams his hand out, looking for the door handle, but it’s too late—Richie, mid motion, pulls out entirely and jams back forward, his hard dick ramming into the small of Eddie’s back.

Something pops. 

_“Ow,”_ Eddie says indignantly. 

Richie’s wet hair brushes against the back of Eddie’s neck. He gasps. Then he takes a step back, and slips.

 _"Richie,"_ Eddie says.

Richie goes crashing down behind him, dragging Eddie's hips along for the ride. 

_"_ Richie, let go, _let go,"_ Eddie says, and grabs at the door again. Overcorrects his balance, hurls forward. He goes down like he’s trying to somersault, and cracks his scalp on the lip of the tub. 

Bright lights behind his eyelids. Eddie blinks, feeling oddly numb and confused, hazy. Behind him, the smack of Richie connecting with porcelain, and then a sharp, sucked-in sound. 

Eddie braces himself against the tub. He wipes the water from his eyes, crouched awkwardly, and turns.

Richie is flat on his ass under the pouring water, legs thrown out in front of him, his hands hovering around his dick. The first thing Eddie notices is that his dick, which had been hard, had been _fucking_ just seconds ago, is soft. The second thing he notices is that it’s swelling. 

“Huh,” says Eddie. 

“It’s purple,” says Richie helpfully. 

It is, in fact, purple. It is also swollen fat and bloblike, and hanging at a harsh angle that reminds Eddie of a broken branch or calculating the area of a triangle.

“That's like,” Eddie says. "Geometry." Then he passes out. 

He comes to a few seconds later on the far side of the shower floor. 

"Jesus fuck," grits out Richie from up near the faucet. His face is bloodless. "Don't do that." 

"Hm," says Eddie. He tries to sit up and is immediately overcome by a hot wave of nausea. He says something like “ushg” and pukes a well-masticated spinach omelet all over his naked chest.

“Oh my god,” says Richie, who cannot see vomit without vomiting in commiseration, and retches. Richie is a very empathetic person, Eddie reflects warmly, before going unconscious again. 

Then he’s back. His head feels warm and amorphous. 

“Stop it!” says Richie wildly. 

Eddie touches his forehead. It’s wet, but so is everything. "Alexa…" he says. "Doctor…."

Richie sits up sharply. "Alexa!" he calls in a high, panicked voice.

"Rich," Eddie murmurs. "She doesn't know you."

"Alexa!" Richie says in his aggravated sounding imitation of Eddie.

Alexa doesn't respond.

"Tough crowd," says Eddie and laughs loopily. "Okay. Alexa. Girlfriend. Listen. Call an ambulance."

+

In the ambulance, an EMT with massive arms keeps Eddie awake. Eddie wonders blearily if Richie's dick will be okay. Also, what are the rules again? He has a vague impression that you might get homophobically kicked out of a hospital ward if you’re not married. Is that still a thing? 

"I'm his husband," he lies. He thinks he points at Richie. There are a lot of noises and lights happening. “We’re married.”

“All right, sir.”

Eddie’s head hurts. “I gotta be there. If you do anything to his dick.”

Somewhere in the ambulance Richie lets loose a peal of inhuman pained laughter. 

“Him,” says Eddie.

“Got it,” says the EMT. “Don’t worry, sir, we definitely understand that you two are together.” 

“We are,” Eddie says, and feels a lot better.

+

At some point, after wheeling Eddie in and out of a machine and asking him a lot of boring questions, the doctors change the rules and say he’s allowed to sleep after all. So he does, in a narrow hospital bed that makes crunchy sounds every time he moves. A nurse pokes him awake in the night to make sure he’s alive. Richie is in an operating room close by and Eddie can see him in the morning.

When Eddie wakes up in his ugly green hospital room he feels a lot less confused but markedly more humiliated. He answers a doctor’s questions while staring at the ceiling. When he gets the chance, he asks if he can go see Richie.

The doctor raises her eyebrows at him. “Your husband? He’s in the waiting room. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear you’re awake.”

Eddie goes red at the sound of his own lie. “The waiting room?”

“His operation went off without a hitch. We sent him home last night to get some sleep.”

She leaves, giving Eddie time to process the idea that he’s the more pathetic one in this situation. In a few minutes, Richie comes in, carrying a tote bag with Eddie’s coat peeking out the top and looking sleepless.

“Hi,” says Richie, and bursts into a miserable kind of laughter. “What’s up?”

Eddie reaches out his arms. Richie drops the tote and hurries over to hug him around the neck and kiss him. 

“Your dick,” Eddie says. 

“It’s still there!”

“Is it...okay?”

“Um.” Richie laughs self-consciously. “So it can’t, like…. _fuuuuck_ for a while. Like a month. But then I guess it’s all good?”

A massive wave of relief seeps over Eddie. He leans back against his pillows. 

Richie looks apologetic. “Is that okay? I figured we can do, like, other stuff.”

“Oh my god,” says Eddie. “Not getting your dick for one month is fine. I thought you’d say it was gonna hurt for the rest of your life and bleed when you pee or something.”

“None of those things! Apparently it’s more common than the government wants you to think. There’s a protocol and everything, they straight up sliced my jimmy open and stitched it back together. It took like an hour but it felt like a _while.”_

“You were awake?”

“Isn’t that insane? It’s kinda fugly right now, fair warning.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Well, yeah. Maybe not as bad as you’d think. It was pretty bad last night. Honestly, my ass is worse. Big ol’ coccyx bruise. I look like a bunch of squished grapes under here. And I gotta sit on a hemorrhoid pillow. Tell me you love me anyway.”

“I love you anyway,” says Eddie. “Fuck. Richie. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Your face,” Richie says and laughs painfully. _“Did I do that?”_

“I did it,” says Eddie despondently. 

“You did not. We just gotta get one of those old person slip mats for the shower. To match my ass pillow.”

Eddie looks up at Richie, leaning over his bed because he can’t sit down, his snapped dick all bandaged up under his pants. 

This won’t be the last time Richie gets hurt. Eddie will see it again, Richie’s face broken with sudden shock and distress. Like last fall in Georgia, when he tried to run through Stan’s patio door and found too late that the empty space was actually glass. Like the time they had to leave halfway through lunch with a couple of Richie’s standup friends so Eddie could hustle a groaning Richie home and rub his back while he puked safely into a clean toilet bowl. Funny in retrospect but upsetting in the moment—and upsetting again, right now. Stuff is just gonna keep on happening forever. Fingers crushed in car doors, muscles pulled from sleeping weird, stubbed toe, paper cut, dog bite, funny bone. The world is full of terrors. Richie will get old and develop new aches that never go away. And Eddie is going to watch it happen every time. 

“I wish I could make you never get hurt,” Eddie says. Then he has to stare at the wall and blink for a minute. 

“Ah, no,” Richie says. He crouches so they’re at eye level. “I’m fine. Are you fine?”

Eddie wipes his face against Richie’s sleeve. “I’m fine.”

“So we’re fine.” 

He picks his head back up and puts his hand on the side of Richie’s face. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Well,” says Richie. “I agree with that.” 

He’d take care of him if he could. You don’t get that many chances to take care of someone, not for real, not unless you’re a parent. Eddie calls Richie _baby_ sometimes, but really they are just two adults constantly cycling between roles of caretaker and cared for, taking turns getting sick and tired, _sorry about your day let me take out the trash, will you make dinner I’m not in the mood,_ back and forth ad infinitum. He’ll do the dishes for a month when they get home, Eddie decides. He’ll take out the trash until Richie’s dick is normal again, and then he’ll take it out one extra time so Richie can spend the first Sunday night back in business celebratorily whacking it. 

"Eds, man." Richie squeezes his free hand. Eddie refocuses his eyes. "We’re in danger. If you ask me to marry you right now I will say yes. But then that’s the story we’ve gotta tell forever."

Eddie swallows. "We could lie."

 _"I_ could lie. You can’t lie for shit.” Richie picks the tote up off the floor before Eddie can respond and starts laying rolled up pieces of clothing on the bed. “I brought options.” He pulls out Eddie’s black jeans that go with anything, a white t-shirt, a linen button down, black boxer briefs, and three pairs of socks, because Eddie is picky about socks. 

Eddie picks out the t-shirt and cotton socks and gets changed while Richie stands with his back to the door. 

“What’s the logic?” Richie asks as Eddie puts on his socks. 

“It’s nice out,” Eddie says. “These are breathable. Can’t handle anything synthetic once it hits sixty-five degrees, my feet get disgusting.”

“Noted.” 

“I’m not planning to do this again any time soon,” says Eddie. He goes over to Richie and kisses him. “Thank you.” 

“‘Course.” Richie gives him a crinkly smile. “I was thinking, if screens hurt your head we could get some audiobooks or something. We can listen to audiobooks and do puzzles, like a couple of pioneers. A sexy one to tide us over.”

“A sexy audiobook or puzzle?”

Richie laughs. “Could be both.” 

“Maybe.” Eddie crouches down to tie his shoes, eyes level with Richie’s crotch. He kind of wants to kiss it, but that’s probably a very bad and also stupid idea. He takes Richie’s offered hand and stands up. “I have such a fucking headache. Let’s just go home first.” 

“Sounds good.” Richie swings the tote bag over his shoulder. No matter who did and who did not require an overnight hospital stay, Eddie’s still pretty sure he’s got the body that’s less busted to shit, so he takes the bag off Richie’s shoulder and puts it across his own. That’s only fair, since he’s not supposed to drive. He takes Richie’s hand, and Richie takes him home. 

**Author's Note:**

> @ op sorry it took me so long to get around to this rest assured it was on my mind since i first laid eyes on your prompt. fucking sucks when you slip and bust your ass and cant walk cause your jimmy snapped. the title is from the soccer mommy song which i have spent like a year listening to while thinking about richie tozier being depressed and alone in la and i'm thrilled to get the chance to use it in this very unexpected context.


End file.
